


Short Stories from Soulful Songs

by bombshellregina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 08:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7926931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombshellregina/pseuds/bombshellregina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of small short stories (kind of poetry?) that I picture Dean and Cas in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short Stories from Soulful Songs

_One Direction- If I Could Fly_

When Castiel fell from heaven, he lost everything he had known.

He was cast aside by his brethren, his siblings looking down at his poor life choices with scorn and disgust. They shun him into the shadows, every whisper and side glance a stab to Cas' pride.

He knew that what he'd done was wrong to the eyes of heaven, but for the first time in a thousand years, he felt it.

The tug at he corners of his mouth whenever he saw his green eyes glimmer in the sunlight as he laughed out loud, grinning brighter than the sun itself.

The tingles in his skin whenever they touched, even if it was the bare graze of arms or fingers entwined.

The heaviness I'm his chest whenever they had to be apart, passing minutes turned to days of endless agony and yearning.

Cas knew deep down that his feelings were unnatural for a creature of God, that he should hide his joy like an abomination of creation. But if God created everything with a plan, surely it couldn't be accidental that he was attracted to a human?

That's what he had to believe, that his Father had made him different, special for a reason. It was the only way he could cope with the hatred and disapproval of his brothers and sisters without crumbling to bits.

Did it matter that he woke at night with the phantom pain of his long lost wings?

Did he care that his gaunt body mirrored the moonlight that illuminated the scars on his back where there once stood his angel grace, power turned to nothing?

No.

Because all Castiel needed was a look at Dean, one glance at his perfected features of rough years and dark stories, and he knew that it was all worth it.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_Taylor Swift- Wildest Dreams_

How can you measure time when you're helpless in his arms?

That's the same question Cas asks himself every damn day. He feels his warmth, hears his steady heartbeat beating like the far, far echo of the the world outside the bed. But who cares about life when his whole world was there, lying next to him, running his hands through his hair.

Cas gazes into his eyes, rich sage I'm the faint light of dawn with golden specks, similar to the ones that decorated his nose and cheeks in shades of light brown. Castiel observed Dean with the same delicate look one would give a wisp of smoke, because no matter how beautiful you find the pattern, they will always vanish with the smallest of breaths.

He can't dwell on the inevitable too long, for the truth hung in his heart heavily. It was a burden, knowing that Dean - unlike the stars that mimicked his freckles, unlike the thrumming of the city that followed the rhythm of his heartbeat, unlike the pale rose color in the twilight sky that mirrored his lips- would be gone.

Neither of them would last long enough to fill their souls with every drop of love, passion and tears they wanted.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_Taylor Swift- Style_

Dean knew better than to return to his arms, but every night he'd lay awake, the soft phantom of a kiss haunting his lips with a cold touch.

He would think about the sky mimicking the color of his eyes when he'd whisper his name again and again, an intoxicating siren song that pushed them both to the edge of their beginnings.

He would run back again and again to the first time their bodies moved to the sweet rhythm of rain and whisky and promises of a better day.

Some memories he liked to keep distant, where voices were raised and glasses shattered with every syllable doused in resentment.

But bringing back those instances of bliss kept Dean at the edge of his seat, yearning for nights and days of caresses against crumpled sheets, words against the electricity in the air and a dark haired angel that drove him mad.


End file.
